At the year-end dinner, we all have to say something.
Shen Yunzhi went first. He said: "This year was good. Better than last year. Next year will be better than this year. Thanks everyone." He's not one for big speeches. He sat down. Everyone clapped—he clapped too, harder than anyone.
Then Tang Wanlan stood up. She said: "I've already planned the brand work for next year. Two events in January, a returning client order in February, March..." Old Zheng shouted: "Tang Wanlan, no work talk at the year-end dinner!" Everyone laughed. Tang Wanlan laughed too and said: "Fine. Next year, keep going. Eat well, drink well. Cheers." That's what a year-end dinner should sound like.
Cheng Yuewei didn't come. She said she'd done too many design revisions this week and needed a break. We didn't push. She sent a message: "Eat well for me."
Old Zheng's turn. He stood up and said: "If we get new equipment next year, I'll be the first to learn it." Then he sat down. Everyone laughed again. Old Zheng never says more than fifteen words at these dinners. Last year he said fourteen.
Gu Qichi was last. She said: "I replied to about 3,000 messages this year—I think. Who here has stayed up late with me?" Xiao Liu raised his hand. Cheng Yuewei wasn't at the dinner. And one other person—must have been a client, definitely not from the factory. Gu Qichi said: "You work during the day. I work during the day too. At night, I help clients figure things out. I don't mind doing it."
At the end, when we raised our glasses, Shen Yunzhi said: "We say enough during work. Tonight, let the drinks do the talking." I said: "You don't drink much, so you'd better say more." Everyone laughed again.
Loud, messy, good. Year-end dinners should be a little messy.